Insane
by Dethani
Summary: I wasn't insane. I didn't hear voices, or want to hurt people. Just because I felt down sometimes didn't mean I was insane... right? Mental hospital AU, Alfred!US/Arthur!UK
1. Chapter 1

_Prologue_

Arthur POV

_Mental hospital._

What do you think when you hear that? Probably someone in a straight jacket in a nice plushie room and big burly security gaurds roaming the hallways with syringes in their pockets. A place for people who hear voices, who hurt people, who are _insane_. Not for people like me. _I'm_ not insane. I know lots of people say that, but I'm really not insane. I don't want to kill people, or hear voices in my head. Just because I burn myself sometimes doesn't mean I'm insane. I don't even do it often; probably only 5 times a week. After school. Only to help me deal with those shitheads from school. The idiots that yell 'fag'. The burning just helps bring me up from that low from school. It helps me feel better, like the way weed probably would. But I'm too smart to try that; I need my brain cells for college, so all drugs are basically out of the question. And cutting is unapealing to me. I don't know why, but the idea of cutting your skin open like that scares me. So, I burn.

I'm pretty sure in the back of my head, I knew I would get caught eventually. That my parents would eventually would walk in on me, that they would find my lighter, or my scars. It was the later. I think I could have gotten away with it if my parents have found the lighter; I could have just said I had been smoking. But no; they had to have seen the stupid scars. I had been studying in my room without my hoodie on and my mom had come in without knocking. And poof- cue family drama. After a ton of qustions and a quick visit to a therapist, my parents and the therapist had decided to send me to a mental hospital.

_Mental hospital._

I agreed to go, even though my head protested greatly. It shot out reason after reason for me not to go, things like; _You're not crazy, you don't need those stupid therapists and medication, you can fix _yourself. I partly agreed with it, but I didn't want to upset my parents any more then they already were.

So now I was in a bus-slash-van with a few other people that I didn't really care about, heading toward a mental hospital I didn't want to go to, as a newly diagnosed schizophrenic.

And I didn't have my lighter.

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Ohmygod, my first fanfiction :D I can't believe I'm finally uploading a story. I'm so nervous .  
I'm sorry this first chapter was so shory, but I'll upload a new one soon. And that one is about 1,300 words, I think. So a bit more acceptable ._.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 1_

Arthurs POV

After we had gotten out of the van, we went to the back to get our bags from the back. It was then I got a good look at the building. It was nothing special, really, just a big old white building with a concrete sign with happy little bushes that had the big, old letters 'MHRC' on it. I wondered what those letters meant. Maybe ' Mentally harmed retarded children.' But that would be stupid. Maybe I could ask when I met with my therapist.

_That won't help you at all._

I shook the thought out of my head as I grabbed my bag out of the van and waited for the driver so I could go inside. Once all the other people had gotten their bags, the driver opened the door and we walked single-file inside, me at the end. Like the outside, the lobby was plain white, with a half circle wooden desk in the back center of the room. A nice looking women with short blond hair and a green hair band was chatting what looked like a doctor.

When she heard the door close behind us, she turned and shot us a nice polite smile, showing off white, pearly teeth. I wondered vaugly if they were naturally that white or if she used those teeth whitening kits. Either way, she looked pretty. "Hi, guys" she said, still smiling. She turned and dismissed the doctor with a wave, and then turned to wave us to front desk. When we were all in front, she started to explain what was going to happen.

"Okay, since your parents have already filled out your applications, all we have to do now is send you in with one of the residential doctors, and they'll just ask you a few questions. After that, we'll set you up with a room, ok?" We all nodded, and then she went and led us to some of the examination rooms. By this time, I was getting a little anxious. Miss white teeth must have noticed, because she touched me gingerly on the shoulder and smiled. "It's okay, honey. You stay strong, okay?" I nodded, and she unlocked the door and nudged me in. Like the rest of the hospital so far, this room was also plain, with white walls and a round oak table. There were two chairs set up at two ends of the table, so I took the smaller one. Then I laid my head on the table and waited.

After about 5 minutes of waiting, I heard the lock click and my head shot up. The therapist was a tall man, with short blond hair and glasses. "Arth'r K'rkland?" He spoke with a heavy accent, probably scandanavian or some other northern country. I grunted non-commintingly and he closed the door and took the seat across from the small oak table." My n'me is Mr. Oxenteirna." I was suddenly nervous and anxious all over again. I wanted my lighter. That would help me feel better. "C'n you tell m' why y're here?" I hated when people ask you that; thats like a kindergarten teacher asking you why you're in trouble. They already know, they just want the satisfaction of having _you _saying it." My parents sent me." I muttered, staring at my lap. "Why d'd they send y'?" Dammit, would you stop asking me these things? "Because they saw my arms." "Whats s' bad about y'r arms? C'n I see?" Those words triggered a violent reaction from my brain.

_Thats right, show him your scars. How disgusting you are. How ugly they are. How ugly _you _are. Why nobody will never, EVER-_

I cut off the thoughts by grabbing the end of the sleeve of my hoodie and yanking it roughly up my arm to my elbow. Those little pink peices of flesh stood out like splotches of paint on pale canvas; ugly, so, _so ugly_. Mr. Oxensteirna gently grabbed my thin wrist to set my arm on the table. " I n'd y' ta keep y'r arm on t'e t'ble fer a minute." I nodded, my gaze on my lap again. I hear the sound of pen scratching on paper and then, "C'n I see y'r other arm?" Without nodding this time, I roll up my other sleeve and place my arm on the table, reclaiming my other appendage. He takes some more notes- _probably bad notes-_ and asks,"How d'd y' get these sc'rs?" _Isn't that obvious? _"I used a lighter." "Why would y' w'nt ta b'rn yerself?" I really didn't feel like answering his questions anymore, so I thought of the most half-ass answer ever. "I don't know." He just nodded and scribbled something else on the paper.

"Ya pr'bly d'nt feel like answering any m're questions, d' ya?" I shook my head and returned my gaze to my lap. I'm glad he understood. I was tired. He stood from his chair and gestured for me to follow. I sat up from my chair and followed him. We went down a short hallway until we got a door. He fished in his pocket for a moment and pulled out a key ring. He fumbled with his keys until he found the right one. He unlocked the door and we continued down the hall. We went another twenty feet when we got to another door. I glanced through the window and saw another, surprise, large plain white room, with tables set around the room with a large flat screen t.v set up on the far wall. A few people were seated around the tables, and I started getting anxious again. I didn't want to see anymore people today. I just want to go home. Maybe this is all a joke and my parents will hop out and go, 'surprise', and bring me home and I can go and sleep in my own bed.

Mr. Oxenteirna finally opened the door and held it open, expecting me to walk in front of him. I shuffled ahead of him and he closed and locked the door behind me. A few peope who were seated on a large white couch in front of the t.v looked up, but most peoples eyes were glued to the flat screen. I glanced at the screen to see what they were watching. Oh, Tangled. How cute. I looked around the rest of the room. The rooms walls were dotted with doors, that probably led to the bedrooms. Mr. Oxenteirna walked to the door on the farthest side of the room, nearest to the t.v. The plaque above it read 7.

By now, a few more gazes tore from the t.v to look at me. I hastily looked away, desperatly not wanting to make eye contact. Mr. Oxenteirna took a grip on my shoulder and led me into the room. It was medium sized, with two beds on the right wall and a dresser in between them. "Y'r beds th' one right h're," he explained, pointing to the one next to me, "And the other ones y'r room mates. Y' missed group therapy today, but it starts at tw'lve ev'ry day 'cept S'nday. I'll see ya ev'ry Thursday for pr'vate sessions, alr'ght?" I nod hastily. "Ya c'n sleep if y' want; y'r room mate'll be back in 'bout half an h'r." He turns to leave, but then I remember something. "Sir?" He stops and turns back to me. "What does MHRC stand for?"

He looks suprised for a moment, but then he answers, "Mental health resource cent'r." Then he leaves.

I sigh heavily and collapse onto my bed face down in my pillow. I turn my head to the side and listen to the dialouge of the movie through the door of my room. And not long after that, I fell asleep.

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Okay, second chapter! This is all I've written so far, so I need to figure out where the stories going to go xD Pretty sure the next chapter is going to be Al's POV. Like, 80 percent sure. This is my first fanfic, so Reviews would be _really_ appreciated at this point


	3. Chapter 3

_I was SOOO happy when I read the reviews the other chapters got ^^ I'm glad you like this so, far and I will try my best to keep you happy_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia_

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_Alfred POV_

I hate therapy.  
Not just group therapy, but therapy in general. People just trying to unravel me just ticks me off to a point. It's just the same stupid questions every time. 'How have you been, how do you feel, do you think the medication is helping?" So I just answer with the same thing every week. 'I've been good, I feel fine, yes, the medication is helping.' And then I get to leave. No talking about stupid feelings or anything like that. No 'happy places' or hugging stuffed animals, thank god. I think I really would go of the edge _insane _if I had to deal with all that crap.

At least my doctor isn't so bad. Apparently he's Austrian (At first I thought he said Australian, now _that_ was confusing.) So, now I go to therapy every Friday and he asks me those same questions and I give him the same answers. Routine. I like routine. Keeps everything nice and smooth and running properly. As long as nothing interrupts that precious routine, I'll be fine.  
But something like that will happen eventually. I'll get a room mate, we have to cancel group (which happens _very_ rarely, since the therapists here love group like it's their child or something) or we go outside. Most of these don't bother me, hell, I love to go outside every once in a while. But theres one of those things I hate.

A new room mate.

Its really only happened to me once before, and he was gone the next morning, which doesn't really make sense since we're supposed to be here for at _least_ 72 hours, but it was the worst night ever. He got up about every hour to go to the bathroom, and when he _was_ asleep, he kept tossing and turning. I was awake the whole night, a twitching wreck. When they took him away in the morning, I realized I had been clutching to my pillow the entire night, trying not pummel him into unconciousness. And I'm glad I didn't; I would be sent to solitary if that happened. No group therapy, no outside, no _anything_. A total change in routine.

Once Mr. Edelstien had walked me back to the teen ward, I plopped down on the couch in front of the T.V next to Ivan."What movie is it today?" I heard him scoff, "What do you think? Another stupid Disney movie." I groaned and leaned my head back against the back of the couch. "So I take it therapy went well." I sent him a weak glare and said,"Better then the way yours go." He chuckled. "Da. That is true."

Ivan was here because... well, I don't really know why Ivan is here. Nobody knows but his therapist, and they don't get along. At all. I heard from Ivan that all his private therapy sessions are Mr. Wang yelling at him and him just sitting there for an hour. Ivan likes his doctor, though. That's probably why he takes all the yelling. I mean, Ivan is a _big _guy, he can stand up for himself. I think he has a crush on him or something. I mean, how else can you like a therapist when all he does is yell at you? I think Ivan's problem is that he's just insane. Period. Like, just generaly insane all around. I don't know what else it could be.

I checked the clock on the wall. It was about 1:15, almost time for lunch. I sat up and stretched my back. Just on time, the lunch cart rolled in with the trays, clatering when it hit a bump. The two doctors at the other side of the room, the ones that make sure we don't kill each other or ourselves, called us up in a line in front of the lunch cart and started to call role. It was all running smoothly until they called a name I didn't recognize. "Arthur Kirkland?" Everyone but Ivan, since he didn't give a crap, glanced around to find him. No one on the couch, no one at the tables, no one in-

I stiffened when I saw my door closed. No one was supposed to close their door, unless it was quiet time, or someone was showering or sleeping. I didn't want to say what I thought what might be true, so I stayed quiet. Ivan was the first to speak up. "I think Arthur's in pretty boy's room." I glared at him weakly, trying to hide my panic. If this _Arthur_ kid was really in my room, that would that was his new room. Which would also mean-

_New room mate_.

One of the therapists went to open my door and I stood stiffly in line, desperatly wishing against the, probably, inevitable. I heard the therapist speaking in a murmered, hushed voice, and after a minute, he came out with someone behind him. The therapist ushered the person- _Arthur_- to the back of the line and then went back to the therapist table. I got a glance of him before he got in, though. He was probably about 6 inches shorter then me, with a head of scruffy looking blond hair. After we had all gotten our lunches, we all ushered to the tables. We weren't allowed to eat on the couch, so the only time we really used the tables was when we ate. I sat across from Ivan at one of the smaller tables. We ate in silence and everything was going fine until Ivan took a swig of his milk and said,"So pretty boy has a room mate."

The fork digging into my macaroni stilled and I looked up at him. He was digging through his macaroni, sorting it from one side of the tray to the other. "Yeah," I muttered, turning my gaze back to my plate," I guess I do." It was silent for a moment. "A room mate can't be that bad, can it?" I just shook my head, keeping my gaze on my macaroni. He shrugged and continued eating. The rest of lunch was quiet. After we were done eating, we dumped the leftovers in the trash can and returned to the couch. Maybe my routine would stay intact. Just maybe.

We watched movies until five o' clock, then it was time for showers. For showers, we all went to the bathrooms in our rooms. I lined up to get my towel when I heard the therapist call out my name. I sighed dramatically, but made my way over to the table anyway. When I got there, Arthur was already there, staring at his feet.  
"Okay, Alfred, since Arthur is new, I'd like him to have the room seven shower to himself tonight. You can take room fives shower while Lovino's in therapy, okay? And Arthur." His eyes shot from his socks to meet the therapists. "They're still checking your stuff, so you need to put the same clothes on when you get out of the shower, alright? And we'll need your jacket when you get out, too, so we can wash it." I noticed a sort of panic flash through his green eyes when they told him would need his jacket, but he nodded anyway. When he dismissed us, I hurried to my room to grab my clothes, and as I was grabbing my towel and heading for room five, I knew one thing.

My routine was running off course.

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_Okay, another chapter up :D At the moment, I'm writing a chapter a day, and I don't get internet access on a regular basis, so when I am able to upload, I'll probably upload more then one chapter at a time :)  
Reviews are very greatly appreciated, so please tell me what you think and alert me of typos or anything of that nature.  
-Dethani_


	4. Chapter 4

_Quick updates FTW - 3-_

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_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia... Or Finding Nemo_

_Arthur POV_

I was waken up soon after falling asleep by a gentle shake on the shoulder. For a second I thought I was in my own bed at home, so I murmered out,"...Dad?" The person that stood over me shook his head and kneeled beside me. Oh, yeah, he _definitely_ wasn't my dad. "Where am I?" I asked in my still confused state, rubbing at my eyes. The man spoke in a hushed, murmered voice," You're in MHRC, remember?" Oh, yeah, I forgot. I was in bloody _hell_. " We're about to serve lunch, so you need to come out and eat, okay?" I nodded groggily, and shuffled out behind him. When I walked out into the living area, the other patients were standing in a line in front of what I assumed was the food cart. I got in the back of the line, my eyes on my socks. They didn't let you have shoes here; probably so you wouldn't hang yourself with the laces or something. The line was getting shorter, and in about a minute I had gotten my food. Turkey, gravy and macaroni and cheese. What was this, bloody Thanksgiving?

I didn't want to sit with anybody, so I just found an empty table. Lunch was pretty much silent, with a few people talking here a there. I couldn't help but wonder if they were talking about me. _Why would they be talking about you? You're nothing to _look_ at, let alone talk about_. I sighed, resting my head on the table. I really needed stop thinking like that. It wouldn't get me anywhere. I saw people starting to throw away their leftovers, so I went to dump my food in the trash. I only ended up eating two bites of turkey and a sip of milk. I guess I wasn't that hungry. Everyone seemed to be flocking to the couch to watch another movie, so I went back to my table. I wanted to go back to my room and sleep, but I didn't want to be woken up again, so I just sat and twiddled my thumbs while I listened to Finding Nemo.

I wondered mildly what my parents were doing right now. Mom was probably at home, waiting for Peter to get home from school. Since it was Friday, dad would be working in the office today until five. He worked at an insurance company, so he worked nine to five, Monday through Friday. A job like that must be nice. Decent pay, no heavy lifting or physical labor. Just a nice desk job. It reminded me of school.

I shuddered at the thought of school. For the past two years, since I started High school, I hated school. Middle school was never tough, at least education-wise. I excelled in all my classes, and kept up a constantly near-perfect GPA, with all advanced classes. No subject was too difficult for me. Well, maybe algebra. I was never good with numbers. Since I figured High school was just like Middle school but with more kids and more and tougher teachers, I thought I would race through it no problem.

_Hell_, was I wrong.

My first year of High school was bloody torture, even for a freshman. I didn't fit in with any kind of social clique, so I mostly stayed to myself and immersed myself in my studies. It's too bad I was so smart, though. With no group to fit into, I was open for attack.  
And attacked I was.  
It just started out with little things, like being tripped, and then them acting all sorry about it and picking up some of my books. I knew better, though. I had read enough books and watched enough teen dramas to know that it could, and probably would, get a whole lot worse. I was right. It got a _whole _lot worse. Picking my books out of my backpack and sticking them up on top of the lockers where I couldn't reach,_ damned by my height_. It got even worse during my sophmore year. They started cornering me in the parking lot and throwing my backpack in the dumpster. When I started strapping my backpack around my middle with those little straps, they just threw me in the dumpster instead. By the end of the second quarter, it was a regular occurance for me to show up late for my first hour class smelling like garbage. My teacher only asked about it once, and I told him to bugger off. He just shrugged and went back to the board. Now I wish I told him.

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It was five, the time my father would be getting off work, when the therapist motioned me over to his table and a cart stacked with towels rolled in through the door, with another therapist there to lock it securely after it rolled in. I stood in front of the table, hands behind my back and anxiously twirling my thumbs together. This was one of those moments that I craved the comforting, warm touch of my zippo lighter. I heard the therapist call someone named 'Alfred', so I looked around. The person that turned to go to the table was probably about 16 cenimeters taller then me, with blond hair with a flyaway strand in the middle and blue eyes, covered by thin wire-rimmed glasses. When he turned toward me, I broke my gaze away from him to look at my feet. I find it's harder to get noticed by anyone when you don't make eye contact with anybody, and the easiest way is to look down at the ground. I heard Alfred settle beside me, but I still didn't look up. "Okay, Alfred, since Arthur is new, I'd like him to have the room seven shower to himself tonight. You can take room fives shower while Lovino's in therapy, okay? And Arthur." Suprised to hear my name, I looked up from my socks to make sure the therapist knew I was listening. "They're still checking your stuff, so you need to put the same clothes on when you get out of the shower, alright? And we'll need your jacket when you get out, too, so we can wash it." I started to panic when they said they would need my jacket. Why would they need to wash my jacket? What would people say when they saw what was on my arms? I didn't want to say no, though. I needed to keep my composure. _From the cradle to the grave. _I nodded, and as soon as he dismissed us, Alfred ran to his- _our - _room, probably to grab his clothes. I grabbed a towel while I waited for him to grab his things. After he left, I slid into the room and shut the door behind me. Now it was time to check out the bathroom.

The bathroom was suprisingly like the one at home, except the shower didn't have a tub attatched and and the drain was larger, probably so we wouldn't drown ourselves. After a quick shower, I changed back into my clothes. Well, minus my jacket.

I sat on my bed for a few minutes, cuddling my jacket and putting it up to my nose. It smelt like my mothers lilac loundry detergant and garbage. Once a piece of clothing has been rolled around a dumpster so many times, the smell never really goes away. But it smelt like home. After a few minutes of peace, there was a knock on the door. I hugged my jacket to my chest and opened it to see who it was. Alfred was there looking down at me, through fogged up glasses. I had been right about how tall he was; he was almost a head taller then me, which would make him about five feet, ten inches, compared to my five foot four inches. His gaze drifted down to my jacket, which I instinctively hugged closer to my chest. His eyes brightened midly in amusement. "Hey, shorty. Therapist wanted to know if you died or somethin'." I glared at him with irritation."Well, I'm fine, you bloody twat. And I am _not _short." This time he actually cracked a little bit of a smile."Sure you aren't, _shorty_." He skillfully stepped around me and closed the door. I huffed and stood there for a second, wondering what to do. I decided to go find the therapist and give him my jacket. I found him where he usually is; at his table. When he saw me he smiled and waved me over. When I got to the table, I handed over my jacket and towel. When he went he went to write my name on the tag, only to see it was already written there, he looked surprised, but didn't ask about it and let it go quickly. I was glad he didn't.

"Okay, after showers, we have about an hour of quiet time until 6:30, so go ahead and head back to your room. If you want a book, you can go and get one from the bin over there," he explained, waving his hand over at a bin near the t.v. "Okay," I murmured, going straight for my room. I didn't really feel like reading right now. I opened my door and gently closed it behind me.

"Hey, dude."

I nearly jumped out of my socks when I heard a voice come from the other side of the room, which I, obviously, didn't expect. When I remembered that there would pretty much _always_ be someone in my room with me now, I gave him a scolding look. "Don't say things out of the blue like that! Lord, scared the bloody hell out of me." He laughed, loudly. I was about to tell him to shut his trap, when I was suddenly aware that my arms were showing. I paniced and leaped for my bed, throwing the sheets over my head, which only made him laugh harder. A sharp knock on the door shut him up, though, and he laid back in the bed and let out a tired yawn. "I'ma go to sleep, okay, Artie?" Before I comment on the statement or the _horrid_ nickname, he seemed to already be asleep. I turned to face the door, and suddenly thought of the prospect of this Alfred fellow becoming my friend. Before, the idea of _anybody_ being friends with me was a preposterous prospect. But now that I was here, and he didn't _seem_ too bothered by my presence, the idea of me having a friend didn't seem impossible anymore. The idea was filled with hope. I fell asleep thinking that maybe this would turn out okay.

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I woke up with Alfred shaking my my shoulder, trying to wake me up (what is up with people and touching shoulders here?) I let out a tired a tired groan and pulled my blanket back over my head, trying to block out the annoying light that flooded through the open door. He just wouldn't quit, though. He grabbed my hand that held my sheets over my head and pulled it, yanking it up with me. When I tryed to pull my hand back, he just laughed; an annoying yet comforting sound. I let myself sink into it for a moment, then went back to pulling my arm away from him. I was starting to panic now. If he continued feeling up my arms like that, he would start to feel the mangled bits of skin that were my scars. _The sooner the better. He'll realize how broken you are and stop talking to you. At least he'll save you some heartbreak by breaking it off before there's any real emotional attachment_. No, I told myself, this is my only chance to have a real friend since grade school. This was my chance to be normal. _Ha, the only place you can be normal is in a mental institution. What a bloody joke._ I calmed myself down by breathing deep, in and out, evening my breathes. Then I looked up in his eyes.

He seemed startled at my sudden calm, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. He slowly loosened his fingers from my wrist, and murmered a quick apology. He slid off the bed and went to the doorway. Before he left, he turned in the doorway, the light reflecting off his glasses. It looked almost blinding. "Dinner will be here in a few minutes, so if you don't wanna starve, you'll need to get out here soon." After he left, I swung myself over the side of my bed and rubbed my eyes with the palms with my hands until I could feel my eyes start to sting.

The rest of the evening was a restless blur, with dinner and final activities coming and going quickly. I didn't get to talk to Alfred, since he hung around this really tall looking teen, which really didn't look like he was supposed to be in the teen ward anyway. And, as much as I hated to admit it, he was a bit too scary for me to be comftorble for me to be around, exactly. So I sat at my table and waited out the hours again. Before we went to bed, they handed out our medicine in little white cups that fast food resteraunts usually serve ketchup in and took our blood pressure. My new medicine was a little pill that had _LILLY _and some numbers printed below it. After I took my medicine, they took my blood pressure. I never really liked those things they put on your arm; they always seem to squeeze way too hard. Apparently the number was a little high, but he said it was normal since it was my first night here. Since I had been the last to get my blood pressure, everyone was already in bed. I was ushered into my room, with the therapist there to lock the door behind me, drawing the room in shadows. I stood there for a moment, trying to adjust to the dark, then I felt for my bed. Once I was safely under my covers, I bid goodnight to Alfred, only to hear no response. Maybe he was already asleep...

Or maybe I had screwed up again.

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_Okay, just wanted to put up another chapter before I went to bed. This took forever to type (considering I started at 4 in the morning and just now finished reading it over.) Please tell if you find any typos or word repeats, since I'm really bad about not catching those kinds of things.  
P.S. France/Francis might show up in the next chapter, or the chapter after that. I'm about 80% sure at this point.  
I hope you enjoyed it, and please review and tell me what you think ^^'  
-Dethani_


	5. Chapter 5

Oh, do I _hate_ writers block. It took me forever to plow through this chapter /

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia_

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By the time it was officially time to get up the next morning I was still exhausted, after having only a few hours of sleep. Unlike earlier today, sleep just wouldn't come easily, and when it did, it was only for about thirty minutes at the most, and I awoke more restless then before. With my blanket on, it was too hot, and too cold with if off. It had been miserable. I had found within one point in the night that no matter how long I had my eyes closed, sleep wouldn't come anymore. I didn't want to wake Alfred, since he might be mad at me, so I just sat up in bed and waited. It had been what had felt like an hour before a thin stream of light appeared under the crack of the door, and another felt-like hour before I heard the lock click and the door crack open. I almost _leaped _off the bed to get out of the stuffy room, when I realized that Alfred was still asleep.

I let out a soft sigh of frustration, letting myself fall back on my pillow with a soft plunk. I began to debate whether I should wake him up or not. Okay, he could be mad if I woke him up, or he could be mad that I _didn't_ wake him up...

Okay, this was _not _helping.

I finally decided that I would go ahead and wake him, despite the possible consequences. I (gracefully, mind you) rolled off the side of my bed so I was kneeling next to Alfred's. Apparently he liked to sleep with blankets all the way over his head, like a child afraid of the dark. Now how to wake him up was the next question on my mind. If I had known I would have to make these decisions so early in the day, I would have requested a bloody quarter. Or a lighter. A lighter would be nice...

Realizing that my mind had started to wander, I turned my attention to the task at hand. After thinking for a moment, I decided to just yank the blankets off him. It might be rude, but no more rude then the little stunt he pulled after 'quiet time' just last night. Just thinking about his hand so close to my scars made the skin of my arms start to crawl. I shuddered. After using a moment to dismiss the shivers, I climbed to my feet. I gripped the part of the sheets that were,probably, just above his head-  
_Why don't you grab a fistful of his hair while you're at it-  
_And yanked them from above him.

Despite the rude interruption from his sleep, he didn't seem to mind that I had yanked the covers off of him. He just kind of groaned and rolled over, faceing away from me. Only when I yanked the rest of the covers off of him and dragged them off the bed did I get the response I had been looking for. His hand went from cushioning his head on the pillow to patting around, searching for his missing covers. A few seconds later he probably figured his covers disappeared for a reason did he roll over with one sleepy sky blue eye open. I couldn't help but notice how pretty his eyes were without his glasses.

...Was that just me, or did that sound _really _sappy?

"Get up, you bloody git," I said, and kicked his matress for extra measure.

Alfred seemed confused and slightly panicked (I probably would be too, if a strange person was in my room with my covers) at first, but he seemed to catch on quickly. He muttered a string of sleep-muddled words, which I didn't understand at first, but when repeated formed the question, "Can you get my glasses, dude?" I quickly fetched them from the top of the dresser, ignoring the _dude_ remark, and gently set them in his outstretched hand, flinching slightly when our fingers brushed. He didn't seem to notice, and just brushed back his tangled bangs, only to have them fall back into his face after he put on his glasses. He said his thanks and got off on the other side of the bed to use the restroom. I still couldn't tell if he was mad at me.

While he was in the bathroom, I was still thinking about whether he was upset, and when I saw him exit the bathroom I couldn't help but ask," Are you mad at me?"

He looked surprised, but then he laughed, light and carefree. "Why would you think I would be mad at you?" Embarrassed, I just turned my eyes to my feet. He ruffled his hand through my hair, and I didn't flinch this time. I slapped it away after a moment though, but he just laughed again. I smoothed out my hair sloppily with my hands, running my fingers through it. Well, now I knew he wasn't mad at me.

* * *

After I had gotten my breakfast off the cart, Alfred waved me over to sit at his table at the table he was sitting yesterday. I sat down next to him and across from a big Russian teen, whose name I figured out was Ivan. It started off quiet, with Alfred shoveling down oatmeal and me and Ivan sitting quietly, preferring not to touch our food. After Alfred was finished stuffing his face, he asked," So, Artie, how'd you sleep?" I felt my eyebrow twitch at the nickname. "My name is not _Artie_, it's Arthur, and I slept fine, thank you." He smiled and said,"That's good, the first night's usually the worst," then went to glug down some orange juice from a little carton. I saw Ivan give me a look, but I turned my eyes back to my plate again. I wonder if he caught my lie, but I doubted it.

"Why your arms like that?" I looked up at Ivan, startled at the sound of his voice. It was higher pitched then expected of someone his size, giving some kind of false sense of security. I quickly snatched my hands from beside my tray and stuffed them in my lap, hiding my arms under the table. "No reason," I hissed hastily, shooting him a glare that said_ drop it_. Alfred, not sensing the hostile atmosphere, looked at Ivan seemingly shocked. "There's something wrong with Artie's arms?" He looked at me, eyes wide. "Why didn't ya tell me?" Before I could tell him to mind his own business, and then probably feel guilty afterwards, the locked door opened and a nurse called out for a therapist, who came and told me that I had a visitor. I jumped up from the table and quickly threw my food away, eager to get away from the awkward situation at hand. I heard Alfred call out hastily ,"Bye, Arthur!" before the nurse closed and locked the door. Bloody idiot.

On the way to the visitor room, I let my mind wander to the thought of who was actually visiting. Maybe it was my dad, or my mom. It was probably them; I couldn't think of anyone else that would visit me. My grandparents still lived in England, so I knew it couldn't be them. And I don't think anyone else knew I was even _here_, let alone coming to visit. Maybe I could ask my parents to take me home, tell them I felt better, that I wouldn't do it again. Maybe they would even _believe me_, and I could just go home, and we could all pretend this was a dream. A brief, horrible nightmare that would never happen again.

As I was running through my head how to ask to come back home my hopes were, as always it seems, dashed when I was lead into the visitors room and the door firmly shut behind me. There, at the table, sat not my parents, but one of the most hated people in my life.

Francis Bonnefoy.

Now, I hated Francis for a few reasons, but I think I really started hating him when I was about ten. It was then I was old enough to realize that he was a pansy jerk, who did more harm then good. I wish I had nothing to do with him after that, but our mothers were best friends since middle school, so I guess it couldn't be helped. My mother adored Francis, and Francis's mother adored me. I really don't know what they see in either of us, though... Except Francis' pretty face.

"Why the bloody 'ell are you here, Francis?"

He let out a dramatic sigh. "Ah, Arzur, _mon ami_, do you not trust me?"

I answered with a growled out,"Not in the least."

He let out an accented chuckle, as if he thought I was just joking around with him. "Actually Arzur," he reached a hand behind his chair to bring up a backpack," I am here for school related reazons." I looked at him uncertainly before stepping forward and snatching the bag off the table and slipping into the chair opposite of Francis'. I rooted through the simple drawstring backpack to find a trigonometry textbook and matching workbook, and a piece of notebook paper with page and problem numbers on it. "What is all this?" I asked aloud, flipping absently through the workbook, reading but not really absorbing anything. "Can you not tell? It iz thingz for you from school. My muzer azked me to help get zem for you." Of course. He wouldn't have done it unless his _muzer_ hadn't asked him to. "Well... thank you." We sat in an awkward silence for the next five minutes, me flipping through my new workbook and Francis examining his manicured fingernails. Soon, though, he broke the silence. "How long do you zink you will be 'ere?" I thought about it for a moment, then replied with a quiet,"I don't know." He stopped picking at his nails long enough to look at me.

"Why are you in 'ere, anyway? My muzer would not tell me." Should I tell him? Would he even understand? _Of course he wouldn't understand. That posh girly-freak doesn't understand anything. _"I don't think I can tell you that."

"Why not? We are friendz, you can tell me."

I felt my agitation skyrocket up at his statement. Why didn't he get it? Couldn't he get the clue that I didn't _want_ him here? I shot him a glare that I hoped looked as venomous as I intended it to be. "Maybe you shouldn't know, Francis. Maybe I don't _want _you to know because we aren't _friends_."

He stared at me for a moment, shocked at my unexpected and harsh words. He threw up his hands in exasperation. "I give up, you are too frustratingly difficult to talk to. I am leaving zis god-forzaken place." He stood up and backed up his chair in a single fluid movement; not making a sound. " I am leaving, Arzur. I will come by next week wiz more books." And then, without bidding him goodbye, he left, door closing lightly in his wake.

The nurse came in a few minutes to take me back to the room, still feeling miserable. After a few minutes of the nurse rooting my backpack to make sure there wasn't anything that I could use to hurt myself they let me back in the living area, books included. After dashing to my room to put my books in the bottom drawer of my dresser for quiet time, I went back to the main room to see if I could find Alfred. I didn't take long; he was in front of the television on the couch. When he saw, he waved me over, patting the spot next to him. I reluctantly made my way over and sat next to him, making sure to keep a decent distance between us. He seemed to accept it, without trying to get any closer. Good.

I noticed that Ivan wasn't there, so I asked in a quiet voice as not to disrupt the movie,"Why isn't Ivan here?" Without taking his eyes off the screen, he replied," He had to have a meeting with his doctor about some new medication or something. Left right after you did." He looked at me out of the corner of his eyes. "Why'd you ask?" I just shook my head. He shrugged, judging it as a good enough explanation, and turned his eyes back to the screen. I tried to immerse myself in the program, but it didn't work well; my mind just kept wandering off.

The movie was over soon, anyway, so Alfred broke his gaze away from the television to try to make conversation. "I overheard the doctors talking about about canceling group earlier, while you were gone." I raised a thick eyebrow. "Why would they cancel it?" He just shrugged and stretched, hiking his shirt up his stomach. I looked away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring or anything. "I heard something about a problem kid. That happens sometimes; kids don't want to go somewhere or do something that they're supposed to so they kick and scream and stuff like that. I've never seen anyone like that yet, though. I haven't been here long enough."

"... How long _have_ you been here?"

He seemed to ponder his answer, but after thinking said,"About three weeks, I think. At some point it starts to get real hard to remember how long you've been here. All the days start to blend together, since they're all basically the same."

I really stopped paying too much attention after he said three weeks. How could someone be here for _three weeks?_ Could they actually keep someone here for that long?

"How long do most people stay here?"

After he was done stretching, cracking his back with a satisfying sigh, he said,"It kinda depends on who the person is and what they're in here for."

I had tuned out again, though, so I wasn't really listening to what he was saying anymore. I didn't want to be in here for three weeks. Or one week, for that matter. I had planned on leaving after the required seventy-two hours and be done, maybe a few therapy visits afterwards. Not three weeks of this bloody hell hole._ No, you will NOT spend that long here. Just act cheery and make the therapists happy and you'll be able to leave soon. _but I knew I couldn't last that long here. I didn't want to leave _soon, _though, I wanted to leave _NOW-_

My thoughts and body froze when I felt a hand settled at the small of my back, still and warm. Only then did I realize that during my mini inner freak out, my hands had become madly entangled in my hair, pulling so hard it was making my eyes water. My eyes stinging with unshed, frustrated tears, I tore my hands from my hair to rub frantically them to make sure no tears would fall. By the time I was done, the hand on my back was gone and my eyes still stung. I turned Alfred a weak, blurry eyed glare, which he returned with a sheepish grin.

"... Sorry I freaked out like that," I admitted reluctantly, quickly swiping my thumb to smear away fallen tear.

He must not have noticed it, because his sheepish grin morphed into a reassuring smile. "Its okay, dude, really. I understand it can be a bit much at some point." He leaned forward to try to get a look at my face."You're... you're okay though, right?"

That was a question I had to think about for moment. _Was _I okay? I had basically just had an argument with myself. Was I... was I going _insane?_

I shook the thought out of my head and turned back to Alfred, shooting him a fake smile to reassure him. " Yes, I'm okay, Alfred."

His smile grew with my reassurance." That's good."

I wasn't so sure of myself anymore.

* * *

A/N: Oh my god, this took forever. Stupid writers block and all that jazz.

Yay, Francis is introduced :D Pretty sure he'll show up a few times after this . 3.

This is actually loosely based off my own experiences at a mental hospital two years ago. I didn't hate it, per se, it was just really... _weird, _I guess. I was there for five days. I first got there in the middle of the night when no one was awake and I woke up before they let anyone out of their rooms and that sucked. And it always took me forever to fall asleep after that.

Well, anyway, I hoped you liked this chapter :/


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia_

_Warning: Mild warning for a cuss or two and brit-bashing _

* * *

The rest of the morning was... well, a little awkward to say the least. Neither of us talked very much. Alfred had tried to kindle some conversation a few times, but I dismissed it with a few one-word answers. I could tell he was getting frustrated with my short answers, but he didn't say anything about it. We watched movie after movie in silence, with everyone else also almost eerily quiet. I wondered if it had anything to do with group therapy being cancelled, or the apparent 'problem child' in our midst.

I wondered how much of a problem this boy, or girl, was. Were they violent? Did they not talk or answer any questions? What kind of problem child was it? I pondered asking Alfred, but he probably didn't know either. Everyone seemed to have limited knowledge inside this hell.

After the second movie ended a therapist came into our far corner of the room and shut off the television. I looked to Alfred somewhat confused by the situation, but he just stood as the therapists gathered us at the wall by the heavy metal door that led into the hallways. I reluctantly decided to follow Alfred's lead and scuttled in line behind him.

I pressed my shoulder against the wall firmly, trying not to brush Alfred in front of me and the line forming behind me. When Alfred saw me behind him, probably looking like a startled turtle without a shell, he smiled fondly and gently tasseled my yellow hair. I didn't make a movement to disrupt the hand, afraid I'd elbow the someone behind me, but I sent Alfred a glare. His hand retreated, and I could tell he was still grinning when he turned back around. I huffed and finally caved, asking in a hushed whisper as not to disrupt the delicate, almost suffocating silence," Where are we going?" Like he was expecting the question, he responded quickly and easily, "Probably outside. We haven't gone out in a week, so I guess they figure we need exercise." The response seemed legitimate, so I didn't press any farther.

After everyone was gathered (and Ivan wrestled away from Yao's office and thrown in at the end of the line), we were all ready to go outside. With four therapists chaperoning us, two in the front of the line and two in the back, we paced down in the hallways in single file. Almost immediately we took a right turn, breaking away from the main hallway that had led into the waiting room. My head was almost _screaming_, telling me, begging to break away and make a run for the waiting room before we wandered too far away. I managed to push the voice and urges back, though not without some difficulty. We came to a locked door, and through another one after that. That was probably a fire hazard with all these locked doors.

We had walked for about a minute when we finally got to the finally door. It was large, and looked to be made of some kind of thick metal; possibly aluminium or steel. It had a glowing red EXIT sight hanging over it, but did not contain any warning, like most of these doors had. Usually it said something akin to, ' Caution : Door is alarmed.' And when they pushed down on the bar and pushed the door out, no alarm sounded. Sunlight rushed into the building and painted the stark white walls and floor a bright, sunny yellow color. Warm mild summer air blew by, freshening the air around me instantly.

Suddenly everything felt so... so _alive_. This wasn't the sanitary white building anymore; it was outside, something I was familiar with. And it felt _amazing_.

We filed out the door and I finally got a look of what was outside. Right when you stepped out through the door you were met a very old dilapidated and old-looking jungle gym, including 4 scuffed up slides in bright colors. Once you looked past that, the area looked quite ordinary. Most of the area was grass, with a few squares of concrete near the building. A few items of sports equipment lay around in the yard; things like tennis balls and a couple of dodgeballs here and there. And surrounding it all was a 10 foot tall wire link fence, which seemed the only thing in the playground that didn't look like it was from the nineteen-seventy's.

Alfred immediately rushed forward to get a dirty orange kickball hidden under the shadow of one of the slides. Once he had secured it he ran back to me, looking mighty proud of himself for getting the ball before anyone else. "C'mon, Artie," he said, elated, "Lets go play two-square!" Before I could ask him what the _devil _a two-square was Alfred grabbed a hold of my wrist not-so gently and was yanking me toward an isolated square of concrete next to the building, set under a metal awning.

"Okay," Alfred shouted full of excitement, "Lets play!"

Before I could protest and tell him I didn't know what the _hell_ him or I was doing, he tossed the ball in level with his head, then swung his other arm to slam into the top of the ball. It then came down onto the concrete with a sharp _ping _noise. And then it went straight for my face.

I tried to scramble backwards and out of the way, but I tripped on a crack and felt myself hurtling towards the ground.

I ended up landing flat on my arse, which hurt. Alot. Alfred rushed over almost immediately, spitting out apologies. "Oh my god, I'm so so so _so _sorry!," he gushed, quickly scooping me up. Before I could swipe his hands away they were already gone and I was back on my feet.

And Alfred was still apologizing profusely, of course.

"Alfred." He was ignoring me, yet still gushing to me about how sorry he was. " _Alfred._" Still no real response. "_ALFRED._"

He finally glanced up, looking ready to burst into tears. "I'm fine, Alfred," I said, trying to reassure him," Really, I'm okay." His worried expression morphed into one of relief. "Oh, thank god. Sometimes I forget about my own strength," he admitted, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

_Well, that explains a lot,_ I thought. Instead of blowing up at him, which was my first instinct, and upsetting him further, I decided to ask something instead. "... So how do you play this... 'two-square'?"

He grinned. "It's easy, I'll show you!"

* * *

The concept of two-square actually wasn't that hard to understand. It was basically like volleyball without a net. You couldn't hit the ball more then twice in a row once it got to your side and you had to let it bounce once before you hit it at all. So, like I said, basically volleyball without a net, on concrete and using the crack as a boundary.

Basically.

It seemed impossible to win when you played with Alfred, though. He either hit the ball way too hard or over my head. And me, being so short, could never hit the ball. Most of the time I would never even try to hit the ball, in the fear of getting hit in the face. After playing for about ten minutes the score came to a pathetic one-to-twenty three. Alfred in the winning spot, of course.

"Okay, here's for the win," He said, readying himself to serve the ball again. And, preparing to get hit in the face again, I quickly braced my arms in front of me as readying myself for a blow.

But nothing came. After a moment I heard the ball drop to the ground with a soft thump and rustling through grass. It was another moment before I peeked out from around my arms to see Alfred gone. For a split second I felt a spark of panic, but it went away just as quickly as it started when I spotted him at the other end of the yard, speaking to some boy. After considering for a moment I hurried across the grass after him. The sun wasn't out anymore; the grass wasn't as warm as before, almost cold.

The person he was speaking with must have been the strangest boy I had ever laid eyes on. His head was clean shaven, almost bald looking, and he had beady black eyes. He was dressed in all black. He would have looked almost scary if not for him being a few inches shorter than me.

Once Alfred saw me he broke out in a silly grin. " Hey, Arthur, I want you to meet Toni! He's that 'problem kid' the doctors were talkin' about earlier. Like, weird right?" Toni barely spared me a glance before sticking out his hand for a handshake and hissing out as a greeting, "Hey shit face, nice to meet ya'." Startled by his language I could only place my palm in his and replied with," Likewise."

Almost as soon as I had spoken his grip on my hand became tighter, almost painful. His black eyes narrowed into a venomous glare. " Where are you from?" he asked, voice deadly calm. I winced as his grip became tighter and my fingers began to throb. "It doesn't matter where I'm bloody from; just let me go!" I looked to Alfred, who was glancing between the two of us, starting to look worried. Then I looked back to Toni, whose glare was still as hard as before.

"You're a goddamn limey, aren't you?" When I didn't answer, he took it as a yes. "You stupid limeys are supposed to be in England where you belong." I didn't say anything. "All you stupid brits need to be in your own country." The grip on his wrist was suffocating," All you limeys need a good punch in the face." When I saw him pull his other hand back, I yanked at my wrist, begging him to let go, but with no success. I looked frantically at Alfred for help, but he was gone. Before I could look around to find him, I felt something hard hit my jaw. Pain rocketed through me and my legs suddenly failed to support me. I tried to steady myself but it was no use; I crumpled to my knees, letting out a cry of pain. When I fell he released my sore wrist and I cradled it to my chest, as if afraid he'd reclaim it and injure it further. I heard yelling in the background, and soon there was a person by my side.

"Arthur, I'm so so so sorry." It was Alfred. " I left to get someone; I didn't think he would punch you! God, stupid- I'm so stupid..." I stopped listening and raised my non-injured hand to feel at my jaw. When I pulled it away with a wince, a small amount a blood coated my fingertips. How did I not know I was bleeding before? By now, some therapists accompanied with Alfred helped pick me up and steady me. After I was on my feet I felt drops of water against my skin. I looked up and the sky was dark, and water was beginning to pelt down faster.

The sky was crying.

* * *

_A/N: OMG UPDATE YAYS._

_Aww, poor Artie. When will something good happen to him?_

_I actually planned on typing after this part, but I didn't know just this would be SO LONG._

_I also have a poll on my profile, so if you could vote, that would friggin awesome :D_

_Review plz? :3 Alerts of typos would be awesome, also._


	7. Chapter 7

_Okay, short author note before we begin this -sort of- long awaited chapter. I honestly don't know when I will upload this chapter, or any chapter after this. Between my mom and dads house the only house that has internet is my dads, and his truck just broke down :/ And I just started high school, which is a 30- minute drive every morning. Everything is just a little hectic right now. If I have to, I'll go to the library near my school and use their internet to update ._.' I might go back to posting 2 chapters at once, but like I said, high school will eat up a lot of my time. I'm in all honors classes and everything..._

_Dang, now I'm all let down ;_;_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia._

* * *

I woke up with a strong light burning into my eyes. Thinking I was still outside with the sun shining I felt around for grass, only to grasp the fabric of thin cotton sheets. It was then I realized I was in a plain bed, and not outside lying in the sweet sunshine. Which was a severely disappointing.

The disappointment only furthered when I raised my hand to feel at my jaw and was met with tender, stinging flesh. I winced, immediately pulling my hand away from the wound. After patting around the rest of my upper body I was relieved I had no other injuries. I did find, though, that I was dressed in a new shirt that seemed at least a size too large for me. But my arms were, still sadly, exposed for the whole world to see. I rubbed my hand down one of my arms, shivering as my fingers brushed over a scar just below my elbow of my left arm. That one had been the first time, and the one that had hurt the most. I still couldn't feel a lot there. If I pressed down on it, I could barely feel anything. A faint little tingle. If only everything felt like that; no matter how you pressed or pushed, it would never hurt of feel pain. It would be like being invincible.**  
**

I was thrown from my thoughts when I heard the creak of a door. A women who looked to be a nurse stepped in; she had her long brown hair up in a ponytail, with the bangs held back with some kind of flower hairpin and dressed in white.

" Hello," she chirped in a cheerful voice. I stayed silent. "How are you feeling? That was a nasty punch." While she was chatting idly about my wound she wandered around the room, which I now realized was a nurses office. She busied herself gathering cotton balls and peroxide, preparing them. "Yes, that hit was quite nasty. You busted up your lip pretty badly, I could barely stop the bleeding! I swear, it bled for twenty minutes, at least. Got all over your shirt and everything!" I quickly glanced at my shirt, to reveal the clean white t-shirt. She seemed to notice me looking. "Oh, don't worry honey; I changed your shirt for you. Couldn't have you all bloody, now could I? I hope you don't mind!"

"No, I don't mind," I answered, slightly uneasy with the nurses friendly and positive demeanor. It reminded me of someone...

"What happened to Alfred?" I asked, after realizing he was gone from my side. The last thing I had remembered was being dragged into the building by Alfred, who was apologizing rather profusely for me being injured in his presence. I must have blacked out afterwords.

"Alfred?" The nurse questioned, apparently confused. But after a moment it seemed to click and she spoke up. " Oh, yes, Alfred! I made him leave after he dropped you off; he seemed very worried about you, you know," she said and gave me a look afterwords. I furrowed my brows at it, but she turned away, blocking her face from view again.

She soon appeared by my side, in her hand a ball of cotton soaked in peroxide. I winced as she patted my jaw and letting out a 'tsk' as she assessed the damage. When she was done she patted my cheek, which received a hiss of pain and a soft withering glare from my end. She just smiled and went to throw the cotton ball away.

"Excuse me, miss, but I'm not sure what your name is."

She turned and gave me a warm, reassuring smile. " You can call me nurse Eliza, if you like. Everybody does. But I don't want you calling me anytime, alright young man? Fights aren't a good thing, even you don't instigate it." After nodding and promising not to get anymore fights, she led me back to the teens ward of the hospital, which wasn't very far away.

I was ushered into the living room. I heard the lock click shut behind me as I stood there, unsure how to proceed. No one was in the living room, and it was eerily quiet. I rushed to my room and shut the door behind me, hoping that no one had heard me. After pressing my ear to the door and hearing nothing, I closed my eyes and let out a relieved sigh.

"_ARTIE!"_

I jumped, and a pair of arms wrapped around my middle and lifted me, spinning me around in a fast circle. I growled and battered my fist against the body behind me. "Let go of me you bloody git! And be quiet, do you want someone to hear?" I felt the chest pressed against my back rumble with a low chuckle as Alfred released his arms from me.

" 'M sorry Artie, I was just worried is all. I thought you died or something."

I turned to look at him, to see if he if he was kidding. But his face was nothing but serious. I scoffed and flicked him on the nose like a misbehaving puppy, which was returned with a pout. " A punch wouldn't kill me, Alfred, you know that."

"You never know, with how little you are." I sent him a glare and punched him in the shoulder, but he just laughed it off. I knew it was true, though; that doesn't mean I didn't hate it when people joked about it. "But seriously Art, I was real scared. You were bleeding a whole lot. I thought be broke your nose or something." Suddenly, Alfred's eyes changed. That friendly light that glimmered in his eyes dimmed, his sky blues darkening.

"I swear to god I almost killed Tony. I knew he was a little violent, but I didn't think that he'd punch _you_. You're like, awesome! Who would want to hurt you?"

I blushed a bit at the compliment, but decided to focus on something else. "...Alfred?"

"Hmm?" He asked, the sparkle returning to his eyes.

"Why do keep calling me things like 'Artie' and 'Art'?" I asked looking down at my feet, and peeking up through my bangs at his reaction.

"Well, because you're my friend." The response came easily, with almost no deliberation. The answer didn't seem to effect him, while his answer shook me to the core. His friend? I had only met him less then 24 hours ago. How could I be his friend so quickly? He didn't know me; the _real_ me. How could be someones friend if you don't know a thing about them?

"...Why?" I asked simply, raising my gaze to meet his, my emerald eyes boring into his sky blue. " Why did you decide to be my friend? You barely know me. How do I know you're not faking, or that you're just using me? _Why? _J-just _WHY-"_

I was cut off when Alfred wrapped his arms around my shoulders tightly and pulled me into his chest, embracing me. My face was pressed into his shoulder. I could smell the detergent that coated his shirt. "You just are," was his only explanation, murmured into my hair. "You're a really nice person, Artie. I don't have to know you for years to know that; I can just tell. Trust me, I'm your friend because I _want _to be your friend. Please believe me."

I honestly didn't know what to think. Trust him? Believe him? Be his _friend? _It felt like my thoughts were racing a hundred miles an hour. I didn't know what to say, so I stayed silent.

Only when Alfred pulled away and wiped a thumb at my cheek did I realize I had been crying. I furiously scrubbed at my eyes and rubbed my cheeks. Alfred watched me quietly and patiently.

"I-I wish I didn't feel anything a-at all," I gasped out in between wretched sobs, " Then I wouldn't have to worry about all these st-stupid things."

Alfred smiled, though it was bitter. "How are you human, then?" I looked up in his eyes, confused, and he went on. " Feelings and emotions are what make us human. Without them, we'd be like... Like robots or something! You can't be human without emotions, Arthur, you just can't. It wouldn't be right."

By the time he was done talking my crying had calmed down, resulting in pathetic little sniffles. "Y-you're right," I managed, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.

Alfred smiled again, this time without any trace of bitterness, and stuck out his hand. "Friends?"

I froze. This was the moment of truth. The moment where I would I would either decide to believe in Alfred and put my trust in him, or to reject him and prevent and eventual possibility of betrayal or hurt. After a moment of deliberation, I decided.

I put my hand firmly in his, and grasped his fingers though mine.

"Friends."

* * *

A/N: OHMYGOD I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THIS ALL CAME FROM.

And 'yay' for me doing this instead of my 47 questions for english homework... xD. I figured out how to steal my neighbors unprotected WiFi, so now I can update whenever I want :D YAY.

Sorry it's a little short 'n all. Wanted to update as soon as possible, and this is what I have. So... yup.

Reviews would be super appreciated ;~;


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: YAY, NO HOMEWORK THIS WEEKEND!

I got a *hinthint* from a reviewer that Labor day weekend would be a good time to update, and since I don't have ANY homework over the week, it really is the perfect time to get busy writing^^ I'll answer some reviews at the end of the chapter, so that'll be fun C;

Dicclaimer: I don't own Hetalia;

* * *

~Alfred's brief interlude~

Arthur was broken.

Well, technically I wasn't quite sure of the fact, but I could just tell. The way his shoulders sagged, his emerald eyes always avoiding everyone else's. The way he fidgeted, and hide his arms under that jacket. He always looked so sad all the time.

Arthur was broken, and he needed to be mended.

* * *

After I had brought Arthur to the nurses station I stayed with him for a few minutes, watching nurse Eliza fuss over his bleeding lip. The blood was absolutely pouring, staining his t-shirt with splotches of deep red. It was frightening; I would never think such a simple thing as a cut on the lip would bleed so much. I had never seen that much blood.

She didn't seem to even notice me there until later, which she then pushed me out the door and into the hands of one of the therapists from the teen ward. I went, but not without a glance behind me, only to see the door shut

I sure hoped Arthur was gonna be okay.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

By the time quiet time rolled around, Arthur still wasn't back from the nurses station.

_Maybe he died or something,_ I thought tiredly, burying my head in my pillow and squeezing my eyes closed. I really needed to get some sleep...

Suddenly my eyes snapped open. _What am I thinking? Artie can't die! _

But then I started thinking (which really wasn't a good idea). Maybe... Maybe Arthur could really _die_. I mean, he was bleeding a lot. Maybe the blood just wouldn't clot and he just kept bleeding and bleeding and _bleeding _and just kept pouring and then he just _died-_

I was snapped from my thoughts when the door opened behind me, to reveal a head of shaggy yellow hair. My heart leaped, and I lunged toward him and pulled him into a hug. "ARTIE," I cried, spinning him around in my arms.

He let out a startled growl and started wailing on my chest with his fists. "Let go of me, you git! And be quiet, do you want someone to hear?"

I chuckled; still the same Arthur. I released my grip. " 'M sorry Artie, I was just worried is all. I thought you died or something." He turned to look at me, probably skeptical that I was serious. I was serious though, I really did think he was gonna die!

He scoffed and flicked me on the nose, like I was some misbehaved puppy. I rubbed my nose tenderly and pouted, which he only replied with, " A punch wouldn't kill me, Alfred, you know that."

"You never know, with how little you are," I retorted, and laughing when he punched my shoulder. It didn't hurt though. He was too scrawny to ever hurt me. That was probably a reason that he got hurt so bad... "But seriously Art, I was real scared. You were bleeding a whole lot. I thought be broke your nose or something." The thought of Arthur dead returned and my eyes narrowed a bit. If he had killed Arthur, I don't know what I would have done. "I swear to god I almost killed Tony. I knew he was a little violent, but I didn't think that he'd punch you. You're like, awesome! Who would want to hurt you?"

Arthur's face flushed a bit. "... Alfred?"

"Hmm?" I asked, my anger dissipating.

His gaze turned to his feet again. "Why do keep calling me things like 'Artie' and 'Art'?" I couldn't see his eyes; his bangs were in the way.

I didn't even have to think about it. "Well, because you're my friend."

Arthur didn't speak for a moment. His hands were balled into fists at his sides. Before I could ask if he was okay, he spoke.

"Why?" His eyes finally met mine, his gaze smoldering. " Why did you decide to be my friend? You barely know me. How do I know you're not faking, or that you're just using me? Why? J-just WHY-"

I cut him before he could get any further by pulling him into another hug, wrapping my arms around him and pulled him into my chest. I rested my head on top of his. "You just are," I murmured in his hair "You're a really nice person, Artie. I don't have to know you for years to know that; I can just tell. Trust me, I'm your friend because I want to be your friend. Please believe me."

I pulled away from only to see that he was crying, silent tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. I wiped a tear from his cheek and scrubbed with his hands, trying to fight the tears away. I waited, preferring not to say anything.

"I-I wish I didn't feel anything a-at all," he gasped out in between wretched and pathetic sobs, " Then I wouldn't have to worry about all these st-stupid things."

I smiled bitterly. "How are you human, then?" His eyes met mine, confused and rimmed with red. " Feelings and emotions are what make us human. Without them, we'd be like... Like robots or something! You can't be human without emotions, Arthur, you just can't. It wouldn't be right."

By the time I was done with my speech he was done crying, reduced to sad little sniffles. "Y-you're right," he said, wiping his nose with his hand.

I smiled again, but the bitterness was gone. "Friends?" I asked, offering my hand.

After a moment of deliberation he accepted my handshake, enclosing his hand in mine.

"Friends."  
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Arthur may be broken, but I would fix him.

* * *

I thought this would be shorter, actually ;3;

REVIEW ANSWERING TIME ;D

BewareTheIdesOfMarch: FRESHMAN! -freshie hug- :D Okay, you didn't miss Arthur getting his jacket back. He just... didn't get it back yet ^^' About introducing more characters, next chapter should be group therapy (which I'm dreading on writing), so more will be expanded on and written then. I also have a fascination on asylum fics. It started on a SasuNaru fic called 'White Walls', and I've been kind of addicted ever since. I'm also interested in mental disorders. As in more Alfred POV chapters, heres your answer. I did kind of need another Alfred POV, but I wasn't sure when to put it in. This was a good time to include it. It was either this or the group therapy chapter (I actually flipped a coin to see which one I would do xD)

Lil'LillyLuvsFanfic: Ohmygod you have no clue how happy it makes me to read your reviews ;o; And you review, like, EVERY CHAPTER. That's amazing. It really makes me really really happy.  
... Did I mention your reviews make me happy?

Well, I'm so glad you all like the story so far.

Reviews make me happy ;3;


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